Keeping Time
by Infusiion
Summary: Perhaps it only took one last glance, one last word, one last touch, one last breath, but they lost their balance. They lost their time. CameronCuddy. Rated for sexual references.


I realise this is something quite unusual for me, seeing as the majority of fics I read/write are House/Cameron. But what kind of writer would I be if I couldn't step outside the box and write something different for a change? Besides, this pairing is surprisingly addictive.

PS. To all those readers who are anxiously awaiting an update on any of my unfinished fics - don't worry. I'll be jumping back inside the box very soon. I might even write another chapter for one of them today...

**DISCLAIMER**: They don't belong to me. .:is sad:.

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They were dancing, often slow, sometimes fast, but always the same; always evasive. Always trying to avoid.

When together at work, they danced to avoid both each other and the prying eyes of the staff and patients. They pretended as though nothing was real (everything was in their heads, a figment of their imaginations), and they pretended the spark that ignited with a single glance never existed.

Cameron told herself it was a phase (like that time you had a crush on your science teacher, who was female, when you were thirteen. You thought it was the end of the world). She pretended her heart didn't thump _that_ much faster at the sound of her voice (she must have startled you), pretended her head didn't spin when their eyes met (you should be wearing your glasses), pretended her skin didn't burn at the mere proximity of her.

She pretended it wasn't Cuddy who had her pinned against the wall in those dreams. Dreams that had her waking up tangled among the sheets, wanting more. Dreams that set every inch of her mind and body on fire.

Cuddy convinced herself this was a mid-life crisis (you know you're getting old when you fall for your female employees). She told herself the shortness of breath was due to lack of exercise, not Cameron's presence in her office (you have been slacking, after all). She told herself the tingling she felt spreading throughout her body was a result of the cold weather, not because Cameron had just brushed against her (it's too cold to be wearing this, anyway). She convinced herself she was smiling because of a joke she heard on the radio that morning, not because she was thinking of a certain immunologist in the diagnostic department (it _was_ a funny joke, after all).

She told herself it was not Cameron who was screaming her name beneath her in the halls of her subconscious. She was convinced it wasn't Cameron who frequented her dreams, dreams of passion and lust and love. Dreams which left her seeking a cold shower.

They were dancing. Dodging each other when together at the hospital, dodging wayward thoughts and images of each other when alone. They were sidestepping, always keeping time, never stumbling, and never losing balance. Always maintaining poise; always keeping up appearances. Never admitting to themselves (let alone each other) that what they were feeling was real.

But in a heartbeat it can all come tumbling down.

Perhaps it only took one last glance, one last word, one last touch, one last breath, but they lost their balance. They lost their time.

Perhaps it was the way her name formed on Cuddy's lips that had Cameron leading her down to the bathrooms that night. Perhaps it was the fire in her eyes, the heat in her touch. Or the suggestiveness of her body language. Perhaps it was Cuddy's breath on her neck, as they stood grouped with the others in the conference room.

Whatever it was, Cameron fell out of time, giving in to the flames of desire, which were threatening to swallow her whole.

Perhaps it was the steadiness of Cameron's gaze that had Cuddy slamming the cubicle door shut behind them. Perhaps it was the closeness of her body, the brush of her fingers across her own, the scent of her skin.

Whatever it was, Cuddy ceased to think about it as Cameron's mouth explored hers hungrily. She fell further out of time and forgot about the dance altogether as Cameron's hands travelled down to her skirt, pulling it to a heap on the floor in one fluid movement. Cameron pushed her body flush against hers, forcing her against the cold bathroom tile. She continued to fall as Cameron's hands lingered on her hips, burning through to the bone.

Cameron couldn't care less about sidestepping as something awoke in her boss, making her lunge forward and pin her against the door, leaving burning trails down her neck with a series of nips and licks.

Cuddy threw away all attempts at evasiveness as she ripped Cameron's shirt from her shoulders, exposing bare, trembling skin (you were never a good dancer anyway). She abandoned all rational thought as she acquainted herself with Cameron's chest, feeling every ridge of her sternum beneath her tongue as she travelled down.

Yet, even as their escaped moans echoed off the tiles, and heated breath created swirling patterns around them, they were dancing. This time it was disjointed and hasty, but their bodies moved as one, their sense heightened, aware of every sound, every touch. They were in tune with the other's every need, and their sole aim was to fulfil it. As their bodies joined, hips rocking, fingers entwining, sweat mingling, things fell back into place and they regained their balance. They kept their time. And in that moment, and every other moment from that point onward, that was all that mattered.


End file.
